by Darcy Burke
“You don’t seem to mind.”
He pulled on her hand and stopped walking. “Hold it right there. If you think it doesn’t drive me nuts that I apparently come from a line of KKK leaders, you’re kidding yourself. The fact that Turner Stowe seems to have been on the side of justice and morality keeps me from having a total identity crisis. You can think it’s weird, but I still feel some sort of guilt.”
She touched his face with her free hand. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t your fault.”
“I know that. Just as I know that your story is important and most of the town will support what you’re doing. Yes, there will be some outliers who are outraged that this dirty secret is being aired, but screw them.”
“I’m not sure I agree with your ratio of supporters versus those who are outraged, but your support is the only one that matters.” She kissed him softly, cupping the side of his neck with her hand. “Geez, you’re getting soaked out here.”
“Eh, it’s barely a drizzle. This isn’t rain—not in Oregon.”
She laughed. “I’m learning. Come on, my car will be here shortly.”
He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her against him as he backed under the awning of the shop they were in front of. “I’m going to miss you so much. You are coming back, right?”
“Of course. I have a story to tell and Ribbon Ridgers to alienate.”
He chuckled as he kissed her again. “I will be your champion.”
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Keep your sword sharpened—you may need it.”
* * *
Jamie parked his car in his parents’ driveway and grabbed the manila envelope from the passenger seat. He jumped out and strode to the door. Before he could knock, Dad opened it wide. “Hello, son! Good to see you. Been a while since you came for dinner.”
Because he’d buried himself in work the past two weeks. It was the only way he’d been able to endure Crystal’s absence. The nights and weekends had been long, his bed empty and cold. Damn, he had it bad.
“I made stew!” Mom called from the kitchen. “One of your favorites.”
No one made stew like his mother. Jamie walked inside toward the kitchen. “Please tell me you got some sourdough from Barley and Bran.”
Mom looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “I got you your own sourdough bowl, silly.”
Of course she had. She always took such good care of him and his brothers. “Fantastic.”
“You want a glass of wine?” Dad asked.
“Nah, I’m good.” He held up the envelope. “I brought the stuff my college friend found about the Stowes.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Dad said.
Mom waved an oven mitt at him. “After dinner—which is ready. Can you please put the salad on the table?”
Mom turned toward the oven, and Jamie rushed to intercept her, dropping the envelope on the corner of the counter.
“Let me get that.” He took the mitts and put them on.
“Jamie, you can’t just leave important documents on the kitchen counter. They might get ruined.” She let out an exasperated breath as she picked up the envelope and moved it to the living room. “Have I taught you nothing?”
Jamie resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he bent to take the stew from the oven. “You’ve taught me plenty, Mom. Like how to keep my mouth shut.”
Dad chuckled. “He’s got you there, dear.”
Jamie’s back was to them, but he could practically feel the perturbed glare Mom sent him. He put the stew on the stovetop and turned off the oven. “I remembered to turn off the oven.” He took off the mitts and turned toward his folks.
Mom was smiling. “I’ll take what I can get.” She blew him a kiss, then picked up her soup ladle to dish up the stew. “Here, take these to the table, please,” she said to Jamie.
He helped deliver the stew, and they all sat down. Jamie asked how work was going for both of them. Dad said they had a troupe of Chinese dancers coming tomorrow, and Mom said she was inundated with students selling her Girl Scout cookies in the office.
“Luckily, we have a big freezer in the garage—I bought enough to last all year, I’m afraid.” She gave Dad an apologetic look, but he only smiled.
“Fine by me, so long as you got plenty of Thin Mints.”
Mom turned to Jamie. “I heard something a bit disturbing at Bunco last night. It’s about your friend Crystal.”
Jamie noted she referred to Crystal as his friend and not his girlfriend, which she wasn’t. Not technically, anyway. But usually that wouldn’t stop Mom from calling her that, especially since she knew they were spending time together. Which told him something was wrong.
He braced himself. “What’s that?”
“Apparently, she’s writing a screenplay about our family secrets.”
Tension sparked through his frame. “Are they secrets?”
Mom frowned at him. “Of course they are. Did you know about it before last month?”
Jamie gritted his teeth. “No, but that doesn’t mean they’re secrets.” Except it seemed the family had gone to great lengths to hide what had happened.
“I’m not sure I want our family history publicized like that. Can you imagine what people will think of us?”
“They won’t think anything. The movie isn’t about us.”
Mom’s hand paused in midair, a spoonful of stew halfway to her mouth, and her eyes widened. “Oh, so it’s already a movie?”
Jamie summoned all the patience he could. “No. It’s not.”
Visibly relaxing, Mom took the bite of stew and a moment later said, “Well, that’s a relief. I’d appreciate if you would talk to Crystal about this—tell her how much it would hurt our family.”
Jamie looked over at Dad, who was frowning into his stew. He turned his head back toward Mom. “I’m not going to do that. This is history, and we don’t own it.”
“You don’t care that everyone will know we’re descended from white supremacists?”
“Of course I care. But I can’t change that. We are descended from white supremacists. Just as we’re descended from a man who fought against them. What my friend learned—and what’s in that envelope I brought—is that Turner Stowe was a prominent attorney in San Francisco. He worked tirelessly to protect and advocate for the rights of women, children, and minorities. He did a lot to help the Chinese community there. What you’ll also find in that envelope is a photograph of Turner with his mulatto wife, Rose, and their three children. They are also our family, and I’m quite proud to call them that.”
Dad looked over at him with warmth and understanding. “He sounds like someone I’d want to call family too.”
“I agree, of course,” Mom said. “But it doesn’t negate the KKK side of the family.”
Jamie let out a breath and practically dropped his spoon. “It doesn’t need to be negated—it happened.”
Mom pursed her lips at him, her eyes agitated.
Dad gave her a sympathetic look. “Dear, you may have to accept that this is out of your control.”
“If Jamie won’t talk to her, I will,” Mom said. “Is she here in town now?”
Jamie was losing his appetite—good thing he was almost done anyway. “No, she’ll be back tomorrow for the opening of the exhibit.” Kelsey had planned a reception, and Crystal planned to arrive in time for that. Jamie had offered to pick her up at the airport, but she’d insisted on taking a car, citing horrid Friday rush-hour traffic. He hadn’t been able to argue with her on that point.
Mom smiled, looking quite pleased. “Excellent, I’ll talk to her then.”
Jamie could well imagine how that might go, and he wasn’t about to subject Crystal to that. “No. I’ll do it.”
Mom briefly narrowed her eyes at him before taking another bite of stew. “You said you wouldn’t.”
He didn’t bother masking his irritation. “I changed my mind.” He stood up with his plate and took it to the kitchen. Turning ba
ck to the table, he said, “I’ll talk to her, but I can’t promise anything. Like I said before, you don’t own this history.”
“I understand that.” Her response was tight and tense, and it didn’t sound very understanding.
Jamie was more than ready to go. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Do you want leftovers?” she asked as he walked out of the kitchen.
Did she not realize he was pissed? It didn’t matter; she’d offer him leftovers anyway. She was his mother, and as she always told him, she loved him regardless.
“No, thanks. But it was great—I really appreciated the bread bowl. Good night.” He grabbed his coat and headed outside.
Before he got to his car, he heard the door open and close. He turned his head to see Dad jogging toward him.
“Wait up, Jamie.”
Jamie turned outside the driver door. “I was nice.”
“Yes, you were, but then we raised you to be polite.” He frowned. “Your mom wasn’t mean either.”
“No, just unreasonable.”
“That’s not fair. She’s upset about all this and has a right to be. She just needs to work through it.”
“She’s had several weeks now.”
Dad nodded. “I know. Don’t be too hard on her. I’ll try talking to her again, okay? I understand your perspective, and I agree—this is history, and we don’t own it.”
“Thanks, I appreciate you saying that. And talking to her. Again.”
“Well, like you said with Crystal, I can’t make any promises.” His mouth quirked into a semi-smile. “But that’s women for you.”
Jamie snorted. “I guess. I just don’t want Mom to be rude to Crystal tomorrow night. She’s worked really hard on this story, and it means a lot to her.” She’d talked about her progress with him over the past couple of weeks—not necessarily specifics, but enough for him to hear her passion for the project. And to feel proud of and excited for her.
“Sounds like she means a lot to you.”
“Yeah, I guess she does.” He guessed? He was falling in love with her. And wasn’t that a shock as well as a potential pain in the ass. He had no idea what in the hell she’d say to that.
Dad gripped his bicep briefly. “We’ll get through this, son. And someday have a laugh.”
Jamie let out a semblance of a laugh and shook his head. “We’ll see.” He wrapped his Dad in a quick hug. “Thanks. Tell Mom I really loved the stew.”
“Will do.”
Jamie got in his car and waved at Dad, who watched him drive away.
What the hell was he going to say to Crystal? She knew how his mom felt about this. Just as he knew that Crystal was going to do whatever she wanted with the story—as was her right. Yeah, he’d talk to her, but only so he could tell his mother he’d tried. He had no expectations of changing the outcome that was already in motion. Nor did he want to.
Shoving the turmoil from his mind, he willed himself to think about Crystal. Soon he’d hold her in his arms, kiss her, tell her how much she meant to him.
Would he?
Anxiety curled in his gut. He’d done a good job of keeping women at bay and protecting himself from falling in love again. Crystal wasn’t Sadie, but there were issues to overcome.
And did she feel the same? He was almost afraid to find out.
14
“Damn it.” Crystal slammed her head back against the seat of the car as traffic ground to a complete halt. Her plane had been late, and now they were in the height of rush hour. After snaking their way through Portland, they were now heading west, creeping along from one suburban town to the next. Finally, they’d broken into vineyards and farmland, but now they were stopped again.
“Sorry,” the driver said, flicking a glance toward the backseat from behind the wheel. “This is usually bad on Fridays, but the rain is making it even worse.”
Stupid small towns and stupid rain. She wanted to get to the exhibit reception. She wanted to congratulate Kelsey and celebrate with her friends.
She wanted to see Jamie.
Anticipation spun through her, made more frustrating by the fact that she was stuck in this mess. Her phone vibrated in her lap. She looked down and saw Kim’s number.
Picking it up, she slid her thumb across the screen. “Hey, Kim.”
“Crystal! Are you sitting down?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve been in a car for going on two and a half hours.”
“Oh, that sucks. But I’m about to improve your mood.”
Crystal heard the excitement in her voice and couldn’t help but feel a burst of excitement herself—tinged with anxiety. She’d just given Kim the script treatment yesterday morning. “You don’t have news on the script already, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Shit. Crystal’s stomach dropped into her feet. But wait, Kim sounded really happy. “So this is good news?”
“That might be understating things a bit.” She chuckled. “I sent it to the top tier—who we discussed.” A-list directors and production companies. “Three of them have already called back with interest.”
Crystal’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. Three?”
“Yep, and there could be more. I think the buzz is out there, and people are rushing to read it.”
“But—but this is just a little story about a woman who went west and…bad things happened.”
“It’s a great vehicle for a woman—multiple women actually—and you know how few of those there are. I’m surprised Alaina isn’t itching to play this part, to be honest with you.”
Crystal processed that for a moment and realized she was surprised too. If this had happened a few years ago—before Alaina had met Evan and had Alexa—Crystal was confident she’d be all over this. And Crystal had to admit she’d be fantastic. She suddenly felt bad for not working more closely with her—for not giving her the treatment first.
Stop it—you don’t owe Alaina anything.
Didn’t she?
No. And Alaina doesn’t expect anything from you.
Crystal wasn’t entirely convinced. Nevertheless, she shoved the thoughts aside. “So what happens next?”
“We see who coughs up the most money and you decide. Or maybe money isn’t the most important thing there—sorry, for most people it is.”
Money wasn’t her driving factor. She had plenty of it. “I guess I’d like to see everything they’re offering. I’d like to have a producer credit.”
“Of course,” Kim said. “I pitched that as nonnegotiable.”
“And no one balked?”
“Nope. You have a great reputation, you know.”
She’d thought so, but that was as an assistant. This was new territory. Yes, she had one producer credit on a small film Alaina and Sean had produced last year, but this was different. This was someone who wasn’t a life-long friend taking a chance on her. Her throat started to constrict. She coughed.
“You okay?” Kim asked.
“Yeah, it’s just… This is more than I imagined would happen.”
“Well, I’m not surprised, obviously. I told you this was a great project, and you knocked it out of the park with that treatment. The romance element with Hiram. Man, I was sobbing at the end of act one. Don’t even get me started on act three.”
Crystal grinned, her exuberance threatening to burst from her chest. “Thanks. For everything.”
“Thank you. You could’ve given this script to Alaina, produced it, and I’d just be a happy moviegoer. That I got to be a part of this process is awesome.”
“Okay, now you’re just blowing smoke up my ass.”
Kim laughed. “You know me better than that.”
Yes, she did. Crystal couldn’t stop smiling. “Do I need to make a decision right now?”
“Hell no. I’m going to email you details on what I have, and like I said, there may be more action. Take the weekend—at least—to review and reflect. We’ll chat first thing Monday. I’ll send along anything else I get
, and don’t hesitate to call me at any time with any questions. Promise? I’m working for you here.”
“I promise. Thanks, Kim.”
“My pleasure.”
They disconnected, and Crystal pumped her fist in the air while letting out a sharp cheer. She quickly slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry!”
The driver glanced back from the front seat, chuckling. “No worries. Traffic’s starting to break up a bit. We should be in Ribbon Ridge soon.”
“Fantastic.” A bit of her enthusiasm waned. Wow, this was really happening. This movie was going to be made, and the dirty, buried secrets of Ribbon Ridge—and Jamie’s family—were going to be exposed.
Well, if that wasn’t an ice-cold bucket of water on her excitement. Fuck.
Jamie was on her side. He’d be happy for her. So would Alaina and Brooke and Kelsey. But what about the rest of Ribbon Ridge?
She couldn’t help but think of Stella’s comments the day she’d left. And of course Jamie’s mom. They were not going to be thrilled. In fact, they might be downright pissed.
And here she was heading right into the lion’s den—a reception for Kelsey’s exhibit that would be chock-full with Ribbon Ridgers. Hell’s bells.
As they neared Ribbon Ridge, Crystal directed the driver to pull off the highway. She was already running late, might as well stop at the guesthouse and freshen up a bit. After paying her driver and giving a healthy tip, she dashed inside and dropped her bags. She quickly found tonight’s outfit as well as her makeup bag and transformed herself from travel trashed to reception ready.
She hopped in the car and drove into town where parking was tricky thanks to the reception. She found a spot a few blocks away and was grateful that the rain had stopped for a bit. Hurrying toward the library, she checked her phone. Only forty-five minutes late.
The reception was in full swing with light, music, and conversation spilling from the library. Kyle Archer’s restaurant, The Arch and Fox, had catered the event, and Crystal could see food-laden tables through the windows. She also saw several familiar faces.
Panic stole over her, and she froze outside the open door.
